To Die is to Live
by MarySedai
Summary: SPOILERS FOR ASOS! The Hound's thoughts and ramblings under the tree at the Trident. He comes to an important realisation. T for some swearing.


**Hello, this is my first Song of Ice and Fire fic so sorry if I haven't quite got the characters right. Anyway, since I really really REALLY want Sandor Clegane to be alive and rescue his little bird, this popped into my head after reading AFFC when the brother spoke of coming across the Hound before he 'died'.**

**Also, sorry if there's any inaccuracies!**

**Dont own it, but you knew that already :)**

The galloping of horse hooves faded, but the sobbing beneath the tree began anew and more anguished.

He was alone and the thought of it brought even further despair to the damaged, tainted man. He knew he was done for; the wounds were festering as he lay there, silently working their own taint throughout his body and killing him slowly.

He had begged for the gift of mercy and it was denied him. But then, why should he be given any gift? He was foul, disgusting, monstrous and hideous…whatever demeaning name people could spit out of their mouths would be suited to describing him. He had murdered countless numbers of people, even children. He was glutton for wine; a drunk. He had visited whorehouses and took them from behind so they wouldn't need to look upon his ruined face.

Oh yes, many other men oft visited brothels and no-one battered a bloody eyelid. So why did he feel like that made him worse than the other men?

Sansa.

His Jonquil. Though he had remained stubborn to admit that until he reached his dying moments. He hated himself for it and wished he didn't know the man he had become.

The way her hair shone in the sunlight. Like fire, even though he hated it, he could also love it because it reminded him of her.

The way her pale skin lay so smooth over her perfect frame. Whores rarely had skin as beautiful as she, but when his eyes were closed and hands grasped their hips it didn't matter.

She would no doubt grow into a beautiful woman. But that was the problem; she _would._ She wasn't a woman yet. Only a child, so innocent and pure. His little bird with a sweet, sweet voice. He could almost hear her, but he knew that was down to the fever raging inside him like it was liquid fire.

His sobbing ceased but tears continually rolled down the good side of his face as he stared into the sky, waiting for the Stranger to carry him off where he belonged. His Stranger stood close by, he vaguely noted. Standing guard almost; faithful to the end that hard, cruel beast. Sandor made a mental laugh; he was too weak to do it physically.

Some time passed, though he wasn't sure how much. He heart seemed slower now but skipped a beat when he suddenly felt a cool flannel placed upon his brow.

"Sansa?" he managed to whisper.

"Hush now, you need rest." To the Hound's dismay, it was a man's voice. Non-the-less, he began to whisper his confessions.

"I did mean to take her right there. The fire…it…I just lost my bloody senses out in that bloody battle…" he began to sob again "…I didn't think, I just knew I wanted _her_, to take her away whether she liked it or not. I could have protected her; they wouldn't have been able to beat her anymore. But then…what about protecting her from me? It would have only been so long until I'd claimed her for myself. But what does it matter now? I'm dead and now she's married to the Imp. That ugly bugger would've taken her innocence the moment they threw them both into the marriage bed." He laughed, though he didn't know how, since he felt cold now and his heart slowed even more. The man cradling his head in his lap remained silent. Whether he was listening or not Sandor couldn't care less, but he rambled on anyway. "You must think it's bloody funny, me going on about the ugly Imp. I'm as ugly as ugly can get. Everyone I meet has made sure I know it, too. Even my Jonquil. I could never be her Florian. But then, why can't I dream? Dogs have dreams just like everyone else. Except…no one cared to listen. The little bird chirped her courtesies and was always too bloody scared to look at me, yet she was the only one who ever showed me kindness since my cunt of a brother took away my hopes and dreams. I only regret I never killed him for it; for everything he has done. They say kinslaying is the worst of crimes? Bugger that…not with Gregor…no, no…he's more beast than human and nothing good will ever come from him."

The silent man took a deep breath and finally spoke.

"No man should slay his own kin, no matter the crime. You say you care about this Sansa? Pray tell, what would she think of your violent thoughts? And Ser Gregor will one day answer for his sins, but it is up to the Stranger when he will be ended. Let go of this blasphemy, Sandor. Lay the Hound to rest."

Sandor supposed the bloody man was right. Sansa would probably like the gentler side of Sandor Clegane. But did he have one? After years of hate and fear, brutality and murder…how could he have a gentler side?

What was he thinking? The fever had definitely reached his mind. He wasn't thinking straight anymore. He began to slip in and out of consciousness, but his mind still fought on, thinking of the little bird and how he never really knew what she thought of him. He wondered where she was, was she safe? Was she in peril? Was she being used and abused with no-one caring if she ever sang her sweet, sweet songs again?

His heart was about to stop, he knew and the damaged man could think of nothing but his Jonquil; the Queen of Love and Beauty, smiling and looking at him with the adoration he always dreamt she would.

All in one moment he knew he was in love, the reason he needed to live.

The Hound's heart ceased its beating…

But Sandor Clegane lived.


End file.
